Never a Good Idea
by SparrowWriter64
Summary: After betraying Greed and joining the military, Kimbley finds himself with only one place to live...Frank Archer's. And the two are having bigger problems than Kimbley leaving crumbs on the couch. KimbleyArcher
1. A Different Side

Disclaimer- I don't own FMA or any of its characters. It would be cool if I did, but I don't. Imagine all the fun I could have with the storyline if I did though!

Never a Good Idea

Chapter One

Living with your superior officer was never the best idea, under any circumstances. But Kimbley really had no choice. With just one dorm under repair, the others were packed with no room to spare for a back-from-the-grave recruit. And that's how he ended up living in lt. colonel Frank Archer's small, one-floor house.

With lt. colonel Frank Archer.

However, at the moment, Archer wasn't home. He was at headquarters and Kimbley had no idea when he'd be back nor did Kimbley really care. The alchemist would officially take up his military duties three days from now, on Monday. He had three days to relax. Or relax as much as he possibly could with the thought of a pissed off Greed hunting him down at the edge of his mind.

The Crimson Alchemist was taking his time wandering his new home. There was a small kitchen and dining area in the corner of the largest room which also served as a living room. He walked into the back hall that branched off into three rooms. The door closest to the living room led off into a barren bedroom (_Probably mine_, thought Kimbley). On the opposite wall was the door that led to the bathroom (_Just one? Hope we don't have the same shifts…unless he doesn't mind showering while I'm using the mirror. My hair can take quite awhile sometimes)_. The third door, the one farthest back, opened into a bedroom much more lushly furnished than the other.

_So this must be his._

It was bad manners to go through someone's room, but Kimbley couldn't help himself. He hadn't seen any other side of his roommate than Archer's stoic, business-like manner. An open closet revealed an impressive collection of clothes, most of them dark. There was a mostly full bookshelf in the corner, a few newspapers stacked between it and the wall. A desk was in the opposite corner, beneath the window. Sunlight streamed across its surface, shedding light on stacks of papers, some pens and pencils, a book, and an alarm clock. Between the desk and the bookcase stood the bed. It was a good-sized bed, two pillows with a lush comforter thrown over it. It was already made. Indeed, everything about the room seemed to scream organization.

Kimbley smirked and shut the door.

The warm water coursed over his body, running down from the shining silver showerhead. Kimbley tipped his head back and closed his eyes, feeling the water run over his eyelids in tiny rivulets.

This…This was nice. One thing he'd missed the most during his stay in prison was a good shower. Sure, it had felt great when he finally got a shower at the Devil's Nest, but it most definitely hadn't been the perfect shower he had been imagining. But this…plenty of light to see by, clean curtains, clean walls, no grime already caked on the soap bar from the chimeras, and all the hot water he could possibly need. And shampoo.

_He'll probably want a shower when he gets back…he'll be pissed if I take all the hot water._

Kimbley rinsed off his hair one last time before shutting off the water. His wet skin reacted violently to the sudden exposure to the cold air; a giant shiver wracked his body. He jumped out of the shower, grabbing a towel practically before his feet touched the floor. He toweled off and rubbed his head—he would spend more time drying his hair later. The bathroom was small, roughly the same, roughly the same shape of his cell. Small rooms like this still made him nervous, though he would never show it.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, the alchemist grabbed another dry towel from the rack on his way out the door. As he stepped into the hallway, he heard a rustling sound coming from Archer's room. _Did I not hear him when he came in? _Kimbley thought. He changed his course from his room to the lt. colonel's.

Frank stood with his back to the open door. He had been home long enough to change out of his military uniform and into jeans and a dark gray muscle shirt with short sleeves. He was definitely more trim and well-built than Kimbley had imagined, far from the image of the stereotypical pale guy. Not as muscular as Greed, but still…nonetheless…

Kimbley wouldn't deny that he had been "involved" with Greed. While one's in prison, the body begins to hunger for more than just food. And it wasn't that Kimbley was gay—if he was attracted by someone, it didn't matter if that person was man or woman. He simply liked what he liked. And he was attracted to Frank Archer—the fact that Archer was human (albeit a cold one) made the officer even more appealing. Even though Greed was human in appearance, speech, and attitude, he wasn't a human…he was a homunculus and Kimbley could never get that thought out of his mind.

And Archer was completely human.

"You really should announce your presence when you're standing behind someone."

The lt. colonel's voice snapped Kimbley out of his thoughts. The pale, dark-haired man turned around to face the alchemist as he shrugged on a dark blue button-down shirt. He left the shirt open, showing off the gray shirt the clung to his chest. As Archer passed Kimbley on his way out the door, he glanced over him.

"Go dry off, you're dripping all over my carpet."

End of Chapter One

I wrote this during a very boring Chemistry class. If you like the idea, please let me know and I'll work on continuing it. There really isn't enough Kimbley/Archer fics out there. Oh, and it won't always be just "romance"…I also intend it to be humorous too. Let's face it, both of them have different lifestyles so they're bound to clash over small stuff.


	2. Sadistic Streak

Disclaimer: Once again, I'm not owning the FMA characters and stuff.

Never a Good Idea

Chapter 2

Kimbley tied his still-damp hair back and walked out of his room. He tossed the two towels into the bathroom on his way to the living room. Archer was digging through the refrigerator, throwing stuff onto the counter as he found what he was looking for. Kimbley took a seat at the small bar as Archer threw a bag of lettuce in front of him. The lt. colonel shut the fridge and rummaged overhead in a cabinet, pulling out a bowl.

Archer began to prepare his salad as Kimbley watched. Each movement seemed to be measured and methodical. _But I bet he's wild once you get inside of him, _Kimbley thought with a grin. Archer did have a sadistic streak, if the rumors were true. And Kimbley believed they were. The lt. colonel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "What's your problem?"

"I have only one?" Kimbley replied, the grin still on his face.

Archer let out a small snort and paused before saying, "Did you eat yet?"

"No, and I'm not hungry."

"You should eat." Archer finished off his salad with some dressing and returned everything to the refrigerator.

"It's sweet that you care so much about me." Kimbley's grin widened.

Archer gave a short laugh. "Care? I don't give a shit about you, Crimson Alchemist. I just don't like having anorexic subordinates. They tend to faint right when you need them most."

He took a seat at the bar to Kimbley's right, then began eating his meal in silence. Sighing, Kimbley got up and went to the refrigerator. Alright, fine, maybe he would eat something. _But only because he's asking so nice._ On the second-to-top shelf in the fridge was a plate of left-over pizza.

_Thank god he's not always such a health freak._

--

It seemed he was more hungry than he thought. He was throwing away the last half of his fourth slice when he noted out loud that the trash can was full.

Archer was stretched out on the couch, his head and shoulders propped up by an armrest and a couple of pillows. An open book laid page-down on his chest. He had been reading before he had shut his eyes. Keeping his eyes closed, he replied, "Well, earn your keep, alchemist. Take it out."

The lt. colonel rolled over, placing the book on the coffee table and then scratched the back of his neck. Kimbley was about to give a retort when an idea entered his mind. A sardonic smile lit his face, his golden eyes lighting up. He jerked the garbage bag out of the can and swiftly tied it off. The tattoos on his palms began to heat up as he summoned his alchemic powers. Kimbley slid open the patio doors that led to a backyard so small that they might as well have not even bothered to add it.

The click of the lock releasing made Archer sit up. "What are you doing? The trash is out fr—"

_Boom._

Shreds of the plastic bag and ashes littered the grass outside. The faint scent of sulfur lingered in the air and Kimbley breathed it in with a smile. Then Archer's fist closed on his shirt collar, cutting off his air flow. The pale man pulled the alchemist back inside and slammed the patio door shut as lights clicked on and figures appeared in the windows of the neighboring houses.

Kimbley grinned in spite of the fury on the other man's face. _He's not trying to just frighten me…he's actually trying to hurt me. I guess the sadistic streak _does _run in him._

"What the hell are you trying to pull?" Archer hissed, bringing his face close to Kimbley's. "Your explosion trick is useful only in battle, _not _in my house. Control yourself from now on."

Archer let go of Kimbley's shirt, the cold fire still in his eyes. Kimbley let his grin fade a little, so the lt. colonel would think that his words had gotten through and that Kimbley had learned his lesson. Hey, it worked before with Basque Gran.

_No explosions? Like I'll ever follow that rule._

End of Chapter 2

I thank you for the positive reviews I got, even though it's only been a day and I haven't really gotten many. But hey, a review is a review and I'm happy for all that I get. I was watching FMA last night and Kimbley, Archer, AND Greed were in it…all three of my guys! Well, all of my guys that involved in the Kimbley love fest, if you wanna call it that. Next chapter: A split between Archer and Kimbley as they reflect on each other.


	3. Charisma and tattoos

Disclaimer: I don't own Full-Metal Alchemist, nor do I own Frank Archer and Zolf Kimbley. But imagine if I did. It'd be freakin' awesome.

Never a Good Idea

Chapter Three

Frank had gone back to the couch, lying sprawled out across it. The button down shirt he had been wearing was now thrown over the recliner next to him. After Kimbley had retreated to his room, Archer went back to reading. Not that he got very far with that. He didn't really know what the alchemist was doing, nor did he really care. There was almost nothing in the room he was using, maybe some junk Frank had thrown in the closet for storage, but nothing Kimbley could use to get into trouble. Alright, and maybe Frank had over-reacted earlier. But he'd be damned if he would apologize. He didn't really feel the need to anyway.

The lt. colonel snapped the book shut. He hadn't flipped the page for fifteen minutes—he just couldn't focus on it. That damn grin…why was Kimbley always grinning? Someone who was always grinning like that could never be trusted. Not that Archer trusted the alchemist in the first place—the man was a walking time bomb with a serious need for violence. _Not all that different, I suppose, from myself at times…just not as refined._

But that damn grin—why couldn't he get it out of his mind?

Frank Archer got up and grabbed his shirt from the recliner. He only had a half-day shift tomorrow, but it still wouldn't hurt to turn in early. Kimbley's door was shut as he walked past. No noise came through the crack between the door and the floor. Maybe he was asleep. Who knew what alchemists did during the night?

Throwing the shirt into the clothes basket that acted as a hamper, Archer then shut the door with a decisive snap. This was starting to get aggravating. Frank was a people-person only when he could manipulate them. The honor of being one of the most dangerous convicts of Amestris had certainly gone to Kimbley's head, making him almost impossible for Frank to control. Charisma and tattoos were the only thing Kimbley had going for himself, in Archer's opinion.

His jeans were soon dropped on top of his shirt in the basket. Archer hung his belt up in the closet and then fell back onto the bed. Sitting up straight, he twisted around swiftly to stretch his back. Hearing his vertebrae snap gave him a weird kind of pleasure. So had his attempt to choke Kimbley. Archer wasn't deaf; he knew the rumors that flew around behind his back. The lt. colonel had to admit that the rumors weren't completely unfounded. But the pain wasn't the real thing that excited him. It was the fear in the victim's eyes.

But Kimbley had seemed to enjoy Archer's sadistic attack.

_Sick bastard, _Archer thought as he set the alarm clock. Sighing, Archer got up to turn off the lights. He picked his way across the dark room back to his bed. There wasn't much in the way, but Archer didn't want to stub his toe on the bedpost and then have to explain to a smirking alchemist why he had shouted "damn" at eleven o'clock in the night.

_Maybe he'll strangle himself in his sheets while he sleeps, _Archer thought as crawled under his own. _No, alright, I take that back. He can strangle himself after he earns me credit for recruiting him. God knows that will be the only time he's useful to me._

End of Chapter Three

Well, not a very long chapter, but it still took me awhile, didn't it? I have already started the next chapter though and I hope to get it up by Tuesday. For you see, school's out so I will have plenty of free time for awhile. Oh! I just saw X3 and while watching I had a Kimbley/Greed thought. If you've seen it, you remember the part where Wolverine and Phoenix (not Jean, Jean's cool and not a skank) are making out on the table and she rakes his arm pretty deep and he heals and all that stuff? My thoughts: "Ohmygod, that's what Kimbley does to Greed!" Of course, I couldn't share this with anyone because the person on my right has no clue about FMA and the person on my left always hears about my Kimbley/Archer ravings and would not appreciate Kimbley/Greed comments either. (He'll hear about it at some point though.)


	4. A way to get under that facade

Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own Full Metal Alchemist or Kimbley or Archer.

Never a Good Idea

Chapter Four

Kimbley woke up and groaned at the sight of the alarm clock—12:30. _Damn. _He had gotten used to falling asleep late at the Devil's Nest, but he had still usually gotten up before now. Kimbley hated waking up past noon. It made him feel sluggish for the rest of the day.

It also didn't help that the bare, confining walls of the room reminded him of a cell.

Rubbing his eyes, the Crimson Alchemist threw the blankets back and swung himself out of bed. He didn't bother to put on a shirt or pants before leaving the bedroom, instead just walking out in what he had slept in—his boxers. Yawning and scratching at his chest, Kimbley made his way slowly into the living room where he was greeted by the sight of Frank Archer in the kitchen. The lt. colonel was leaning against the counter and humming, a half-empty bottle of water in his hand. Military jacket thrown over the bar stool, blue-collared shirt still tucked into the common-issue military pants, Archer was looking down at a couple of papers laid out before him on the countertop, a few strands of dark hair falling into his eyes. Kimbley could tell by the sharp, heavy tap of Archer's foot that the man was still wearing his boots.

"What are those for?" Kimbley asked nonchalantly, making a vague gesture towards the papers. It was a wasted gesture for Archer didn't look up to see it.

"Insurance papers for the stunts you pulled last weekend."

"Now that wasn't completely my doing. Most of it was from that crazy bitch alchemist who was all pissed you stole her kid." Kimbley transferred Archer's jacket from the stool to the table. _Not a bad smell, _Kimbley thought with a grin as he did so, passing the jacket closer by his nose than he had too.

"He was a material witness to the Lab Five incident. I did what I had too." Archer sighed and pushed the papers aside. Then he made a noise of disgust as he finally looked up at Kimbley. "God, couldn't you wear something more decent?"

"Hey, it's my house, not the Fuhrer's office. Speaking of, aren't you supposed to be at work?" Kimbley stretched, thrusting his chest out as he raised his arms above his head, as if to goad Archer by reminding the man that he was shirtless and in boxers.

"Correction—it's _my_ house. And I already went to headquarters, six to noon. You slept through it," Archer replied, eyeing Kimbley. The alchemist widened his grin. Maybe he'd get what he wanted after all. But Archer's next comment wiped that grin clean off his face.

"You're awfully thin, alchemist."

"And you're awfully pale," Kimbley shot back, a snarl creeping into his voice. "Next time I'm in prison, I'll ask for my three nourishing meals a day, just for you."

A sardonic smile twitched Archer's lips. _There's one way to get under that cool façade. But is it the mention of his stay in prison or his lack of musculature…? _The smile remained as Archer watched Kimbley stalk to the fridge with a dark, sulky look and a rebellious slouch.

The alchemist shifted through the refrigerator's contents. He wasn't all that hungry and nothing seemed appealing. Meanwhile, the lt. colonel behind him had gone back to humming that nonsensical song of his. The steady foot tap accompanied Kimbley's motions as he poured a glass of milk then gulped it down just as fast. He dropped the glass into the sink without bothering to rinse it out, which he knew would piss off his roommate, but at this point, he didn't really care.

Kimbley finally snapped. "Will you knock it off?" he shot over his shoulder as he rummaged through the cupboards.

"Hm?" Archer raised his head.

"The humming." The long-haired alchemist's hand closed over a package of saltine crackers. Better than nothing, he supposed. "It's annoying."

"Once again, my house." There was the click of a pen and a quick flourish as Archer signed his name to one of the papers. He then set it aside, underneath the others. "I do what I want and you get over it."

Kimbley brushed past the other man and fell backwards across the couch. "Well, damn." Tearing open the package, Kimbley popped a cracker into his mouth. Before, he had never really cared for saltine crackers. He found them to be very bland. After military-issue food in both the war and prison, anything tasted good.

"Watch it."

"Watch what?"

"Crumbs." Archer frowned, his eyes downcast around Kimbley's chest, where most of the little cracker pieces were gathered. "You're getting them all over. Clean it up."

"Like you said, get over it."

"Like I also said, my house. If I tell you to get on your knees and lick the crumbs off my couch, you do it."

Slanting his eyes in a narrow glint, Kimbley sat up. A few dark strand of hair had escaped from his ponytail and fallen over his shoulder and onto his bare chest. There was an expression on his face that Archer couldn't place. A sarcastic look, but not completely joking.

"What if I get on my knees and lick something else?"

That made Archer stand up straight. One thought shot through his mind.

_No one informed me that he was gay._

End of Chapter Four

When is the next chapter? When can you expect it? I…don't know. I have some ideas for the next chapter, but I don't know which one I want to go with. I also want to spend some time with my other fics…not to mention I'll be busy for awhile this week and the next…dang.


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